Let Her Be Gone!
by xlilslayerx
Summary: She has had enough of his cheating and finally she was going to do something about it. Kyoko no longer wants to rely on 'God' to do her dirty work, and Ayumu is about to face the wrath of a hurt, vengeful woman in all her glory. Hinted AyumuxKyoko and AyumuxSerasvati Based on Robert Browning's poem 'The Laboratory'. One shot


Creaking down the hollow passage, her cloak concealed every part of her curvilinear figure and her carnally resplendent face as her steps paced along cautiously. There was no true emotion placed on the abyssal shadow clouding across her concealed orbs, but the ill intention of destruction like the true Laufeia she resembled veiled thickly over the atmosphere she passed. Not even the distasteful darkness of a shining moon could overpower the possessive killing intent of the mysterious sheila as it stared warningly over the ignorant lives of the night prowlers and sleepers; it just laughed as it thought of the misdeeds this malevolence girl had planned so carefully over the last few days. Even the howling of the wind joined the calamitous chorus whilst it skulked along the Earth reprobately. With every pernicious stride she found her destination occurring over the horizon and welcomingly gaze at her like it was smirking with the moon and the wind, knowing that somewhere, somehow, she was going to use this building as a purpose for revenge. Standing tall, standing cruelly; this building was going to answer her problems with a bullying glint and no one was going to stop her. Like the beaten stairs of which the coarse building tenured, the rotting wooden sheet of a door screeched in agony as she entered. Growing closer and closer… nearer and nearer was the very place she was drawn to for this task in mind. Her sharp blood red heels clapped with the floor, applauding her courage for finally accepting this personal mission with an unwavering heart.

Alas, her mind was made, and the very person before her knew of her purpose before she had even arrived. Her wicked smile matched every one of the ones that were given to the gal on her way here, almost like they all knew just what she wanted. The black of every corner of the corrupt area consistently changed from one colour to the next: greens of envy, blues of sadness, reds of anger, yellows of anxiety and oranges of frustration; each reflecting the mixture of retribution execrably as the solutions of magical purposes bubbled delightfully, wickedly. Over the wooden bench worked a rather young looking mistress with locks long and straight like the tail of a witch's black cat, but silver like the blade of an unstained knife, and matching piercing eyes shimmering dauntingly yet knowingly. Not a word was exchanged between them, only the diminutive movement of the silver haired beauty handing over a pair of icy glass goggles for her sinful visitor. Finally she removed the dusty cloak, revealing her traumatizing yellow eyes lusting for death, and pulled the suspicious item of safety over them.

"Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,  
May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely,  
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy-  
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?"

The mystifying prithee only showed her a collection of unlabelled bottles before mixing them professionally with haunting experience through her fingertips. Grinning with mischief the malignant female leaned onto the worn wooden workspace casually with her arms relaxingly crossed over her busty chest. She shook her head in thought.

"He is with her; and they know that I know  
Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow.  
While they laughing, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear  
Empty church, to pray God in, for them! - I am here."

He with perplexing burnt white hair and striking eyes who laughs, smiles, dreams of a woman who isn't herself; one that once promised to change her life. He chuckles with her; the crimson blood eyed doxy, strong in all of spirit, mind and body. They chuckle at her. They giggle at her. They laugh at her. But they won't anymore. She does not cry in an empty church for God to do her will, her bidding… no, she takes her emotions the right way; she will do something about their delusional conscious.

The silent mixer brought out many different perfect potions of colourful hatred and objects of menacing detest, pushing and mixing them into one.

"Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste,  
Pound at thy powder, - I am not in haste!  
Better sit thus, and observe thy strange things,  
Than go where men wait me and dance at the King's.

That in the mortar - you call it a gum?  
Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come!  
And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue,  
Sure to taste sweetly, - is that poison too?

Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures,  
What a wild crowd of invisible pleasures!  
To carry pure death in an earring, a casket,  
A signet, a fan-mount, a filigree-basket!

Soon, at the King's, a mere lozenge to give  
And Sarasvati should have just thirty minutes to live!  
But to light a pastille, and Seraphim, with her head  
And her breast and her arms and her hands, should drop dead!"

Withering their lives to nothing with but a small drop of vibrant venom sent wrathful shivers up the spine of the devilish inhumane dame, only making her grin inch wider and her body shake with tempting impatience. She could hardly stand for the wait of the glorious toxin she had commandingly begged for. Staring wide eyed at the emotionless professor of poison, she audibly gasped and swiftly swerved her body, letting her neat shoulder length ponytails swish in excitement.

"Quick - is it finished? The colour's too grim!  
Why not soft like the phial's, enticing and dim?  
Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir,  
And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer!"

She only nodded at her customer's request, taking it back and adding more and more until the colour deepened into the wondrous shade of a starry aluminous blue. The new mix had the blonde insane woman smirking in delight and reaching out quickly for its sublime beauty. However, with only a quill and paper the knowledgeable hand of the expert scribbled instantly the wise words she needed to know before whisking away with the toxic mix of divine works.

'Only a drop is needed.' It read with such gorgeous calligraphy; an educated mind for an inaudible, picturesque lady. But the golden eyes of the dame reading her warning paid heed with an exclaimed expression.

"What a drop! She's not little, no minion like me-  
That's why she ensnared him: this never will free  
The soul from those masculine eyes, - say, 'no!'  
To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go."

A single drop will never do; she must die no matter what. She had stolen away her reason to live, so now her reason must be stolen back. Sarasvati took away what was rightfully hers and that scandalous whore had to pay. She was stronger than her, with a body full and stunning, catching the eyes of her one and only. Her breasts were so much smaller and the immoral yellow orbed female had tried before to use this advantage to bring him back… But why did he still betray her?

"For only last night, as they whispered, I brought  
My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought  
Could I keep them one half minute fixed, she would fall,  
Shrivelled; she fell not; yet this does it all!"

It was only last night she set eyes on the monstrous girl who had strung him by the neck unless he did her bidden. Those red eyes she possessed was those of the devil himself; a reincarnation that she must rid of before she destroyed them all! To die with every bit of anguish; to die holding so harshly onto that last breath; to die in the arms of her betraying beloved. There was no such thing as mercy.

"Not that I bid you spare her the pain!  
Let death be felt and the proof remain;  
Brand, burn up, bite into its grace-  
He is sure to remember her dying face!"

She clung securely onto the vial of bliss, aching to run and put it to use, but she kept firmly stood in the pace she needed for it was not time yet.

"Is it done? Take my mask off! Nay, be not morose  
It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close:  
The delicate droplet, my whole fortune's fee-  
If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me?"

Fastly her necklace was torn off, her bracelet, her rings, her prized expensive earrings; this was worth everything she had.

"Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill,  
You may kiss me, young maiden, on my mouth if you will!"

It wasn't necessary for a kiss, but the jewellery was taken as an equal pay. There was no Chester cat that could compete with the smile of the murderous maiden as she placed her conservative cloak on once again, brushing herself down with the speed of a galloping horse.

"But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings  
Ere I know it - next moment I dance at the King's!"

**Well, I hope you liked it! Thank you so much for reading!**

**-xlilslayerx-**


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